


Logophile

by mageofrainbows



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageofrainbows/pseuds/mageofrainbows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The folded piece of notebook paper flutters to the ground when Isaac opens his locker, and he almost ignores it (just a piece of scratch paper, he thinks) until he sees his name printed on it in sleek black ink.</p><p>Or, the one in which Isaac has a secret admirer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Logophile

**Author's Note:**

> I shamelessly ignored Erica's death because yeah, I refuse to accept it. Also, sorry in advance for bad characterization?

i.

The folded piece of notebook paper flutters to the ground when Isaac opens his locker, and he almost ignores it ( _just a piece of scratch paper_ , he thinks) until he sees his name printed on it in sleek black ink.

Curiosity piqued, Isaac forgets about grabbing his English books and instead picks up the piece of paper, its edges jagged from where it was ripped from someone’s notebook. The smell of someone’s cologne hits him like a freight train and reminds him of dew and freshly cut grass in the morning.

_Your word of the day: pulchritude._

_Sometimes you come out of nowhere and I am struck by your pulchritude. But I think you’d punch me if I ever said that to your face._

Isaac rereads the note, blue eyes scanning scrawled letters, before his lips curl into a bemused frown. He looks over his shoulder in case his mysterious messenger is nearby and staring pointedly at him, but he is alone in the hallway save for a few stragglers speed walking to make it to their next class.

The bell rings, and he is late for English. Isaac couldn’t care less; he hates sitting still for forty-five minutes at a time, and analyzing literature had never really appealed to him. Instead, he offers a half mumbled excuse about being in the bathroom and takes his usual seat in the back of the classroom, near the window overlooking the school’s front lawn.  As he sits down, his eyes stray to the row of cubbies under the window, filled with books and knickknacks the teacher had decided to fill the classroom. There IS a stack made up of just dictionaries, and Isaac never understood this (frivolous) need English teachers had with keeping so many copies of the same thing, but for once he’s glad for his good luck and when no one’s looking, he swipes one.

When Isaac finds what he’s looking for, he wonders if everyone else can feel his ears burning.

 

_pul·chri·tude  (n.)_

_/ˈpəlkrəˌt(y)o͞od/—beauty_

ii.  
  
Isaac soon discovers that the cologne embedded in the fibers of his (love?) note was nothing like Danny’s unique Armani fragrance; he can smell dew and freshly cut grass on a sizeable portion of the males at Beacon Hills High School, now that he's looking for it. The note is not forthcoming with any more evidence—there is nothing but the smell of that cologne and Isaac can’t help but feel intrigued.

(At one point during fourth period math, Isaac holds the note to his nose and takes as deep as a whiff as he can muster, hoping that the close proximity will help him pick up on something he’d missed earlier, but when that doesn’t work he pretends it never happened.)

“What are you doing?” Erica’s voice brings him out of his thoughts and into the loud chatter of the cafeteria that he had tuned out in order to once more try and sniff out his—Isaac didn’t even know what to call it, but he refused to use the term _secret admirer,_ because he wasn’t some love struck teenager in a TV sitcom. “You’ve been staring at nothing for, like, five minutes.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Isaac retorts, and he can’t help the amused quirk of his lips when he looks at Erica. Sometimes he could see the impact the alpha pack had on her and Boyd, the way their eyes shift over their surroundings when they think no one’s looking, and how they shift towards each other, shoulder to shoulder, in case they need to fight. But those moments are gradually becoming sparse, and Isaac can almost pretend Erica and Boyd never went through what they did. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“How much I hate cafeteria food.” 

Neither Erica nor Boyd needed their werewolf senses to know that Isaac isn't being completely truthful (although he really did hate cafeteria food, and if it wasn’t for Derek’s insistence that he attend school like everybody else, he probably wouldn’t be there), but the three of them had an understanding; Isaac would come to them when he felt like it.

“Let’s skip lunch tomorrow, then.” Erica says breezily after a mouthful of salad. “I wouldn’t mind going on a taco run.”

Boyd, quiet as ever, just shrugs, and Isaac mimics him.

iii.

Lacrosse is probably (definitely) his favorite part of the day. Nobody can understand how _liberating_ it is to forego the docility of sitting in a desk, hunched over books and tests and quizzes like robots trying to regurgitate useless information. But on the lacrosse field, it’s just pure aggression and instinct coursing through Isaac’s veins as he runs across the field, jostling his teammates in the process. He’s careful not to get too lost in the adrenalin rush, mindful when his wolf gets too close to the surface.

Unless it’s Scott he’s shoveling through. With Scott, it’s okay if his eyes flash gold for a moment, if his shoulder collides with Scott’s chest more forcefully and with less care than he would with the others, because Scott can take it and return Isaac’s aggressiveness two fold. He doesn’t know exactly when the outright hostility between the two of them turned to reluctant cooperation (he supposes he has Jackson to thank for that) to friendship, but he likes (he _craves_ ) the touches they share now—playful shoves, pats on the back, the occasional brush of fingers when Scott lends Isaac a pen in History (the only class they have together).

(Sometimes Isaac wonders about Scott’s mildly callused fingers, how those blunt nails would feel digging into his skin. He chalks it up to teenage hormones enhanced by the wolf in him and pushes those thoughts away before someone can come along and read his mind.)

“Hey, Isaac!” Scott calls him over from his corner in the locker room. Isaac has a second to admire his teammate’s tanned, toned chest before it’s covered by a dark blue Henley. “Stiles and I are having a game night at my place tonight. Wanna come?”

Isaac blinks. “You sure?” He asks, unable to keep the surprise from coloring his tone. Game Night is a weekly Stiles-and-Scott thing, and he is ninety-two percent certain that no one is allowed to intrude on their Friday night bromance specials.

(The fact that _he’s_ allowed to join them makes him sort of giddy; the thought that instead of Stiles-and-Scott and Isaac, they could one day be Stiles-and-Scott-and- _Isaac_ makes Isaac want grin like a dork. But he has a reputation to protect.)

Isaac shrugs, pretending that he’s indifferent to the offer. “Sure. I have to get my homework from my locker, though.”

“That’s cool. Meet us at Stiles’ jeep when you’re done.”

Isaac nods, and once he’s fully dressed he leaves the locker room, unable to help a small, pleased grin from taking hold of his lips. (He hopes it’s not as goofy as he fears.)

When Isaac opens his locker, there is another note waiting for him, scrawled in the same black ink as before.

_Your (second) word of the day: verve_

_According to babynames.com, ‘Isaac’ means ‘he laughs’. It’s a stark contrast to the apathy you like to show everyone, but you definitely live up to your name when you play lacrosse—you play with verve, and it makes me feel alive when I watch you play._

He wonders if this is going to be an everyday thing, getting two notes a day and having to fish out a dictionary each to find out their meanings. (He’s surprised to find that he’s okay with that.)

Unfortunately, he lacks a dictionary at the moment. Stiles and Scott are probably waiting for him, and Isaac doesn’t really want to break into a classroom just to find the meaning of a word. So Isaac stores the note with its predecessor in the front pocket of his jeans, grabs his homework, and makes his way out of the school.

When he finds the Jeep, Stiles is in the driver’s seat, but Scott isn’t with him.

“Scott forgot his math book,” Stiles says when Isaac slides into the back seat.

“Okay.” Isaac says, and they lapse into silence. Isaac stares out the window at nothing, the word _verve_ running through his mind until it stops sounding like an actual word. As nonchalantly as possible, he turns to Stiles. “Hey, do you happen to know what the word _verve_ means?”

“No clue.” Stiles shrugs. “Studying for the PSAT?”

“Yeah.” And Isaac’s glad Scott isn’t there to catch the lie.

“I have an SAT vocab book in my backpack; check if it’s in there.”

Isaac reaches for the backpack Stiles threw in the backseat, rummages for a moment before finding the book, and flips through its pages.

_verve  (n)_

_/vərv/—vigor or spirit; enthusiasm_  
  
 

Scott comes back before Stiles can question him about it, and soon they’re off and Isaac forgets about SAT words, but he is left with an almost giddy feeling spreading throughout his body, and it stays with him for the rest of the night.

Isaac politely declines Scott’s offer to stay the night with him and Stiles (even though he really, really wants to), pointing out that Derek has hissy fits if the wolves don’t get back to him at night. He runs (sprints) to the home he shares with his pack, but he takes the longest route he knows, feeling very much alive.

iv.

Isaac learns new words over the course of the next few weeks—exultant (happy), sempiternal (eternal), imbroglio (a complicated situation), and, his favorite, defenestration (the act of throwing someone or something out a window). Sometimes they’re random words that his mysterious messenger (he refuses to use the term admirer) tries to amuse him with rather than describe him. Sometimes Isaac will get multiple notes a day, sometimes just one, or sometimes none at all (on the days he doesn’t get a note, Isaac can’t help but feel disappointed at the sight of an empty locker, despite the mess of books he has in there).  They’re sporadic and unpredictable and Isaac has given up trying to catch his messenger in the act. It drives him crazy, not knowing who is slipping those dorky but (he can’t believe he’s admitting it) sweet notes through the vents of his locker. He wonders if he’ll ever know who this person is before the notes inevitably stop coming.

His lucky break comes when Stiles hands him a notebook.

“You have second period history with Scott, right?” Stiles asks, but he already knows the answer. “I borrowed his notebook yesterday, but I forgot to give it back to him before class and I don’t see him till lunch today. Do me a solid and give it to him?”

Isaac shrugs, taking the spiral notebook in his hands. He says “Sure,” and Stiles gives him an “Awesome, thanks man,” before heading off in the opposite direction to his next class. Isaac glances at the cover of the notebook, about to shove it in his backpack—

He takes a closer look at the handwriting. “Scott McCall—US History” is written on the bright green cover, and while it’s written in thick black sharpie, not the sleek, think ink that Isaac is familiar with, it looks similar enough that Isaac digs out one of the notes from the front pocket of his backpack, where he keeps them all. He flips through Scott’s notebook, stops on a page that is marked in black ink, and compares.

The bell rings, but the ink before him has absorbed Isaac’s attention.

Isaac is late to class (again), and as he passes by Scott and places his notebook on his desk (“Stiles told me to give it to you”), he hopes Scott’s werewolf senses don’t detect anything amiss (like the way Isaac’s blood is making its way to his cheeks, making his ears burn, or the way Isaac’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him).

v.

Sometimes, Scott likes to run.

Before the bite, Scott wasn’t fond of excessive running, but now that his asthma isn’t a problem anymore he understands the rush people get, the way they can shake off all their problems and focus on each step they take and the rhythm of their heartbeats in their ears and the breaths that come in pants/

Maybe it’s more intense for werewolves, Scott thinks.

Whatever the case, when studying for tests and playing lacrosse and protecting his loved ones from deranged werewolves and overall just _being_ a better Scott McCall threatens to overwhelm him (like now), Scott waits until his mother’s asleep or long gone at work and jumps out his window (why use a door when you can backflip out of a second story window?) and lets the cool night air calm him. There is never a set destination in mind. He just runs, and it’s these excursions that get him through Allison and those fearful glances and baited breaths his mother would throw his way when she first found out she had a werewolf for a son.

(Scott has gotten several lectures from both Stiles and Derek about the dangers that lurk in the dark, but he is a teenager and he does what he wants.)

Scott ends up in the woods surrounding the decrepit Hale house; Derek’s scent is strong here, intermingled with those of his pack. He can pick out Isaac’s without focusing too hard—he searches for the scent of fresh rain amidst the dryness of the forest. It smells stronger now, and Scott can almost imagine Isaac running with him, a little ways behind.

It takes Scott a few seconds to realize why Isaac’s scent is so strong, but when he does he leads them to a clearing overlooking the rest of Beacon Hills. He remembers the night he and Derek accidentally set Boyd and Cora loose on the city—this was where they’d plotted to trap them at the high school.

“What are you doing here?” Scott’s voice is a little breathless when he speaks, but his heart rate settles quickly and his breathing returns to normal just as fast.

“Derek’s making me repaint the door,” Isaac shrugs, hands loosely tucked inside the front pockets of his jeans. “You know, since the last paint job didn’t last very long.

Scott’s ears burn and he scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he gives a sheepish chuckle. “Why’s he making you do it _now_ , of all times?”

They are both very aware of the threat the alpha pack poses, especially after seeing the aftermath of Erica’s, Boyd’s, and Cora’s captivity. (Scott has half a mind to call Derek a hypocrite for sending his Beta out alone to do a _paint job_ , of all things.)

“I may or may not have insulted his new Toyota.” Isaac says, and Scott notices the way Isaac’s lips curl into a smug smirk, looking so impossibly red and kissable (and he can’t help but wonder if Isaac has ever invested in lip gloss). “Worth it, though. It did have a bit of a pack mom feel to it.”

The laugh that Scott lets out is boisterous and he imagines Derek putting up a “baby on board” sticker on the back of his car. He sits in the dirt and motions for Isaac to sit next to him. “I wish I’d been there to see that.”

“What about you?” Isaac asks as he leans back on his hands, crossing his legs at the ankles and looking out at the city before them.  Their shoulders are touching and Scott can feel the heat radiating off Isaac like a furnace. Scott’s thoughts drift towards those lips once more, and once more the word _kissable_ comes to mind. He wonders if there’s an SAT word for that and promises to look it up when he gets home. “Leisurely run through the woods?”

“Something like that,” Scott answers, and he stops thinking about synonyms but he is still hyperaware of how close he is to those inviting lips. “Running helps clear my head. Work off stress and stuff.”

Isaac looks surprised. “Stress?”

“Yeah. You know—homework, PSAT stuff, alpha packs…” Sempiternal sexual frustration. “The usual.”

Isaac murmurs a low “huh,” and returns his gaze to the twinkling lights before them. If he notices the way Scott’s breath catches in his throat at the way the muscles of his neck shift and stretch, he doesn’t show it. They look out over the city in silence, but it’s far from awkward. It makes Scott want to lean his head against the taller boy’s shoulder and entwine his fingers in Isaac’s.

“Scott. Out of the words you gave me, which is your favorite?”

The suddenness with which Isaac interrupts the silence startles him, and when his words register, Scott is flustered. He forgets the gist of Isaac’s question—only focuses on the phrase “words you gave me” and wonders if he’s going to get punched in the face for being creepy.

Isaac looks horrified and embarrassed when Scott doesn’t answer. “I…you _did_ put those notes in my locker, right?”

Scott is quiet for another moment, but he takes a breath to calm down. “How’d you find out?” Maybe masking his scent with cologne from Macy’s hadn’t been enough. (Next time, he decides, he’ll think twice about trying to secretly woo a werewolf.)

“Took me a while,” Isaac admits, and his expression has smoothed out, lips curled in a relieved smile now that he knew he hasn’t completely embarrassed himself.

“I recognized your handwriting when Stiles gave me your notebook the other day.”

Scott feels his face grow hot and buries his head in his arms and lets out a muffled groan. When he raises his head, he looks at his feet, the twinkling lights before them, the trees surrounding them—anything but Isaac—and tries to explain.

“I’m sorry man. The notes thing was probably creepy and unwanted and I totally get it if you want some space or something. It’s just I really _like_ you and I mean I know I practically _just_ broke up with Allison but I actually think it’s more than just a silly crush but I totally get if I’m being completely untoward and I get if you need to—”

Scott is caught off guard by the shove at his shoulder and the expression of amused disbelief on Isaac’s face.

“I really don’t know how you get by.” Isaac says. “Just kiss me.”

Scott hesitates for a moment, unsure if Isaac really means it, but Isaac just huffs and leans forward to catch Scott’s lips with his own. It’s when their lips mold together that he thinks: sumptuous. Lush. Intoxicating. Scott’s hand finds its way to Isaac’s, while his other reaches up to comb his fingers through Isaac’s curls.

They pull apart, but Scott can still feel the warmth of Isaac’s lips on his own, the heat of Isaac’s fingers pressed against the back of Scott’s neck. Isaac is flushed, cheeks colored by a faint red that match even redder lips (there is no lip gloss; Scott concludes that Isaac’s lips are like that _naturally_ ). Their hands are still entwined, resting on the dirt ground between them.

“Ethereal,” Scott breathes, looking into Isaac’s blue eyes, suddenly remembering the question from before. Isaac’s face contorts in confusion.

“What?”

“My favorite word,” Scott shrugs, a grin on his lips.

This time, it is Scott who leans in for the next kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it wasn't too bad. I am 92% sure that I used some of these vocab words in the wrong context, but I was thinking back to Scott with the word 'ephemeral' and how, throughout episode one, he would use it incorrectly until finally at the end he used it correctly. That's kind of how I imagine he is with all of the new words he learns.


End file.
